


Staying sane was never an option

by Finn



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Dark, F/M, Gen, Grief/Mourning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-06
Updated: 2012-12-06
Packaged: 2017-11-20 10:29:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/584418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Finn/pseuds/Finn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They call him insane, and he probably is. Because who could stay sane with what he has suffered and lost? How can he stay good, when everything that made him so has been taken from him?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Staying sane was never an option

**Author's Note:**

> I'm actually on a writing break, but I listened to a song on the radio and suddenly this wanted out. Peter is one of my favorite characters because I think that while grief is not an excuse it at least is a reason. I hope this little story did right by him. Not beta read, so all mistakes are mine.

It’s dark around him here in the hotel room he has rented for himself as a temporary home.

It’s dark, but his eyes still allow him to see. Smells surround him, chemicals used by the cleaning staff this morning, laundry detergent from the fresh linens. The dinner he had ordered and which has arrived just a few moments ago.

Four plates, two adult portions, two kid-size.

The table is set up with white linen and unlit candles, because as much as he wants to recreate his memory, he can’t stand the sight of a flame.

Fire. It has taken so much from him.

The plate in front of him has the rare steak his mate always prepared for him on their anniversary. The one across from him is filled with a vegetarian dish. How ironic. A human, vegetarian wife. 

The two small plates are full of fries and burger, just waiting to be inhaled by a small boy and girl.

He stares sightlessly but can almost see them, almost hear them.

He wants to reach across the table, as he had always done, to twine fingers with his mate, to carefully squeeze them, to touch the soft skin of her wrist.

He wants to cut the twins burger once more, while two small voices beg for him to work faster because _‘We’re hungry, daddy’._

He can almost hear his mate’s laughter and right at this moment he would drown the world in blood if it would mean hearing that sweet voicefor real.

The pack calls him insane, creepy. Eyes him with disdain and mistrust.

But can he really be judged for losing his mind over losing his family? Can he really be judged for going insane with grief, while paralyzed and locked into his head, body burnt and skin melted, and yet unable to follow his family although he wants to so very much? Unable to feel anything but the broken bonds that left his heart constantly aching?

Forced to stay, he had bidden his time and in the end he avenged them, oh yeah he did. 

And in the process had killed his niece.

Before being burnt once again, he had been mad, unable to tell wrong from right. All he had seen, all he had heard, were the calls for help from his family. 

Could only hear his children scream and beg, while being chocked by hot air and smoke. Could only hear his mate cough and beg _‘Peter, Peter, please! The children…’_

Even after dying and returning, he can’t make the voices in his head stop begging. And maybe the pack is right, because how could a man stay sane with the pleading voices of his family constantly in his ears? 

The people responsible had had to suffer. But Laura… poor, sweet Laura. His eldest niece, the first cub of the new generation. He had never wanted this to happen

When she had been small, it had been him that had stayed with her, while her parents went away for pack business.

He had helped her with her numbers, had listened patiently while she ranted about her mother. She had looked after his twins after they had been born; had babysat on the evenings his mate and he had taken a night for themselves.

Returning, and for the first time really realizing what he had done… There was no way he could ever atone. No way he could ever meet his sister’s gaze if he met her in the next life.

Closing his eyes, he leans back in his chair and tries to imagine his three most precious people cuddled up to him. His mate at his side, his cubs on his lap, snuggled against him, trusting him to keep them save.

And god, he had tried. He had crawled through the smoke, had clawed at doors and walls, had shouted for help. And had wrapped himself around three precious bodies when it had become clear that there was no escape. Had thanked god for his mercy that their human hearts had stopped before the flames had started to lick at their flesh.

The _pack_ that Derek has collected, they judge without understanding. The only one allowed to judge was Derek himself, and Peter knows his nephew well enough to understand that he probably won’t ever be forgiven. And yet, that is okay because Peter doesn’t think that he can ever forgive Derek either.

Three pairs of eyes, eyes he would give everything to see once more, eyes that should be looking at him right now, on what is supposed to be his tenth wedding anniversary, won’t allow him to forgive.

On a basic level, he knows his nephew was tricked, will feel guilty until his dying day for for something that was Kate Argent's fault.

The big spiteful part that is Peter these days though can’t help but gleefully torture Derek in small ways whenever he can and enjoy each flash of pain that can be seen in his eyes.

Because seeing him every day, all grown up, makes him wonder every minute of every day, how his own children would have looked.

So no, he can’t forgive. He is done with the killing, but not with making Derek suffer.

Because he wants to kiss his mate's open locks one more time and smell something besides ashes and burnt hair.

Wants to sleep one more time right next to her while her heart is still beating and their skin is not melted together by fire.

He wants to hear her saying his name, telling him that she loves him, instead of begging him to save their babies.

He wants to wrap his children in his arms, wants to touch them, smell them. He wants to keep them actually _save_.

He wants to come home instead of returning to a hotel room. He wants to be greeted by sweet kisses and sticky little fingers and be asked how his day has been and if he can come and play.

They call him insane, and he probably is. Because who could stay sane with what he has suffered and lost? How can he stay good, when everything that made him so has been taken from him?


End file.
